Harry Potter and the Turncoat
by Ice Queen1
Summary: Harry and Draco find commonality in their abusive families
1. The Edge of the Blade

Disclaimer: Okay, if anyone of you reading this doesn't know who owns Harry Potter…get out. Get out right now and go read it. _Then_ you can read this.

Author's Notes: There are most likely a lot of stories like this one, but there are lots of others that introduce new Yank students, have Voldemort's final battle…etc. etc. So, even though this isn't original, either are a lot of other one's out there. So there. J But don't forget to review. Even if it's just "Huh?" "What?" and "Bite me." I'll be happy. Trust me. And…if you're an author here…maybe I can use a little bribery. If you review this…I'll review something of yours. 

Harry Potter and the Turncoat

It was July again. The twenty-eighth, to be exact. Three days until Harry Potter's, The Boy Who Lived, fifteenth birthday. There was not much to celebrate. Every time he closed his eyes to sleep, a monstrous, evil chalk-white face would appear, its red snake eyes looming out of the darkness as it killed Cedric Diggory. What was worse, was that he couldn't talk to anyone about it. His best friends from the wizarding world Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger didn't understand, and he wasn't even allowed to use the word magic under the Dursleys' roof. 

Harry lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head. If he stared at the ceiling long enough without his glasses on, he could almost feel himself back at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry lying in his four poster avoiding homework. He rubbed his scar absently. Stupid thing caused more problems than the Weasley twins do. He wished it were a normal scar. He wished he still had parents amongst the living, or at the very least, that he didn't have the Dursleys. Harry turned his head towards the clock at his bedside, which showed it was almost seven in the morning. 

He groaned inwardly. Any minute now, Petunia Dursley will be banging on his door for him to get up and do his chores. Sometimes he swore that they mucked things up the night prior so he'd have to do twice as much. Sure enough, a sharp rapping at his bedroom door signaled his aunt's arrival. 

"Get up! Get up this minute!" Aunt Petunia yelled through the door. "You have chores!"

"I'm going!" Harry shouted back, rolling out of bed. He dressed quickly and made his way downstairs. 

The three Dursleys were sitting around the table as usual, Uncle Vernon reading the paper with the top of his head poking over the top; horse faced Aunt Petunia sipping her tea while looking through the kitchen window to see Mrs. Next Door leave for work; and his horribly obese cousin Dudley. Dudley at the moment was cramming as much of his uncle's waffles into his mouth while his parents weren't looking. 

Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper. "You're late, boy. What took you so long?"

Harry bit back a sharp retort. "I was contemplating the meaning of the universe."

"Oh? Is that what your…type…do? Ponder stupid questions all morning while your hard-working relatives make you breakfast?" Uncle Vernon snapped back. 

"The waffles are Eggo. All you do is put it in the toaster for a minutes," Harry replied evenly. 

"Shut up and go do your chores. I want the roof repaired by ten, then you can start on mowing the lawn and cleaning the gutters." Vernon was about to back to reading when he glared at Harry again. "In that order."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but decided against it when he saw Uncle Vernon's face turn purple. "All right, all right. I'm going." He trudged out to the backyard, grabbing an apple from the basket before dodging out the door. He had to do this because there were evidently not enough waffles to fill Dudley's enormous appetite and he had upended the table. 

Outside the house of Four Privet Drive, the atmosphere was perfectly peaceful. The sun was already warm on Harry's bare neck and he knew it would be another scorcher. He could see the heat rising off the shingled roof and inwardly cringed at the thought of going up on his hands and knees. He probably wouldn't have one of the two before the afternoon was over. Harry headed towards the garden shed that housed most of the tools for the house maintenance and grabbed the hammer, stack of shingles and a bucket of nails. He kicked the door shut with his heel and staggered under the weight of his burden towards the already erect ladder. 

Harry stood at the bottom for a moment, wondering if he could climb with his load, but decided better of it. He threw the shingles up along with the hammer but climbed up with the nails. Harry smiled ruefully. Too bad he didn't have a slingshot. He probably would be able to peg Dudley's ass from up here and Dudley wouldn't be able to get him. Harry wasn't at all sure the ladder would support the small whale. He sighed at the thought, knowing if he ever tried, Vernon would probably kill him. Harry set about his work. 

Harry didn't know what happened. One minute he had been working on the roof like he was supposed to, the next, a sudden wave of nausea washed over him. The world seemed to blur like he had taken off his glasses and began to tilt back and forth like he was on storm tossed sailboat. He quickly sat down, clasping his head in his hands, blocking out all light. The light seemed to make his rapidly building migraine worse. Harry sat perfectly motionless for several minutes, waiting for the feeling to pass. It didn't. Of anything, it got worse. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs, and he realized he was gasping as if he had just run a marathon. This wasn't working he decided. Harry risked opening his eyes to bare slits to see his way to the ladder to climb down. 

He dropped to the ground more or less after a free fall and lay still for several seconds, inhaling the smell of the grass below him. A sudden memory struck him. It was just like the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament when he had returned with the portkey…and Cedric's body. Harry leapt up, frantically brushing off the feeling of Cedric's body lying near him and practically ran into the house. 

He didn't stop until he had almost run full on into the sink and shoved his head under the flow. The icy tendrils of water trickling across his face made all the difference in his headache as it seemed to clear almost immediately. The pain subsided enough for him to pull his head out and drink the water straight from the faucet. 

Harry shut off the water and slid to the cool kitchen floor tiles. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the reading on the thermometer outside the window and groaned inwardly. 102 degrees and he'd been working on black shingles without much breakfast. No wonder he felt like shit, it was dehydration. 

However, as bad as he felt at the moment, it was nothing compared to what was going to come. 

Harry cupped his face in his hands again, shutting his eyes for a moment. The next moment, a sharp pain erupted from his stomach. His eyes shot open as he gasped in pain. He was lying on the kitchen floor. He supposed he must have fallen asleep. Harry didn't have much time to think about it though. A second flare of agony came from his ribs, and he looked up through pain filled eyes to see his uncle looming over him, looking like Voldemort himself. 

"What the hell were you thinking?" he shouted, the magnitude of his voice making Harry's migraine return full on. 

"Wha…what do you mean?" Harry gasped, clutching his ribs. 

"You know damn well what I mean, you miserable lump of flesh!" Vernon roared. He reached down and grabbed Harry's arm, yanking him upright. Harry thought he heard his arm crack as he was dragged into the living room. 

He inhaled sharply at what he saw. The ladder had fallen through the large window over looking the yard, spraying shards of glass everywhere and breaking a vase as well as part of the wall. The water from the vase dripped onto the Dursleys' brand new leather sofa. 

Before he could explain, Vernon smashed a meaty fist against the back of his head, knocking him forward. A second threw him to the ground. 

"You stupid boy! What were you thinking? After all we've done for you ungrateful little twit, this is how you repay us? Beastly child!" Vernon shouted, kicking Harry again and again. 

The blows rained down on him and Harry knew his ribs were broken. His wrist was numb from a blow to his that Harry had blocked with it. After what seemed like an hour, the blows finally stopped. And Harry saw why. He tried to scramble to his feet, but his legs wouldn't support him and he fell back down. Harry dragged himself with one hand across the floor, cradling his injured one to his chest. 

Vernon advanced on him like a bird of prey, the cane raised over his head. 

"Please…please, I swear…" Harry whispered in terror. He had run up against the wall. 

"You'll be praying soon enough," were Vernon's last words, before he brought the cane down again and again on Harry's shoulders and back. For an hour, it continued, until finally Harry could no longer scream and Vernon was too tired to lift the cane anymore, he left Harry lying almost unconscious in his own pool of blood. 

Come on. Review. You know you want to. 


	2. Hidden Dragon

Disclaimer: You know it. You hate it. But JKR does own it all. 

Draco Malfoy stared dully out at the pouring rain as it splattered against the enormous windows of his room. The weather was nothing compared to what was going on inside the Malfoy Manor. The return of the Dark Lord weren't going nearly as well as the Deatheaters had planned. In fact, it wasn't going at all. 

After he had been restored to his body, Voldemort had dropped out of sight, gone into hiding. Only Lucius Malfoy and several other close followers of Voldemort knew where he was. 

The manor door slammed shut and angry shouts could be heard ascending the stairs. Draco ignored them, hoping they would do the same, and continued sitting on the stone windowsill, staring bleakly out at the rolling gray acres. 

The shouting was getting louder now, and Draco was sure that they would be outside his door in minutes. _Let them go by. Please, for once just let them go by_…he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. 

The shouting was between his father and someone else. It sounded like Macnair. 

Draco shuddered. He hated Macnair. He was almost as bad as his father, when he was like this. Key word being _almost_. No one was a meaner drunk than Lucius Malfoy after a Deatheater meeting with Voldemort. 

The heavy oak door flew open, and Draco cringed. He forced himself to look at his father, swaying with his hand on the door jamb for support. 

"You, boy! Come here!" Lucius demanded. 

Draco stayed where he was. 

"Come here, now!" Lucius shouted. "_Imperio!"_

Like a marionette, Draco stood, pulled by invisible strings to his father, Macnair right behind him, smiling stupidly. 

Draco froze before the two, and felt his knees give way as he was forced to kneel. He hated himself for it. Why did he have to be so weak? Why couldn't he fight?

"Why don't you fight, boy?" Lucius voiced his son's thoughts. Draco stayed silent. The beating was usually less severe if he didn't rise to his father. "Too weak? To _gentle_? How are you supposed to honor my name if you can't do anything right?" Malfoy's voice rose to a scream. "You are worthless! I should kill you now!"

Lucius kicked his son in the collarbone as hard as possible, and he was rewarded with a loud snap as it shattered under the steel toe of his boot. 

Draco screamed silently, biting his lip until he could taste his own blood. But he remained silent. He couldn't have answered if he wanted to. Macnair had him under the Imperious Curse. They often did this, double team him when he wasn't able to fight back. 

His father's foot smashed into his stomach a third time before he paused, a mad glint appearing in his cold gray eyes, so much like his son's. 

"Macnair," he said softly. "Perhaps…perhaps we ought to show my son true respect for his superiors."

__

Not again…

Macnair had pulled out his riding whip. Draco didn't know why he needed one, Macnair had never even seen a horse before. He supposed he kept it for purposes like this. 

Lucius tore the thick cloak off his son's shoulders, laying bare his back covered in a Muggle T-shirt. 

It was only the first impact that hurt. After that, it was almost mind numbing with its steady beat against his pale skin. He kept his face pointed at the floor. He didn't want to look up at the person who was holding his hands forward, making the skin on his back tense and stretch so it hurt worse than before. He didn't want to see the sadistic smile on his father's face. 

__

And Potter thinks I have it easy…he thought nastily. 

"You're worse than a Mudblood. At least they have an excuse for being so miserably pathetic." His father taunted him, the smell of alcohol on his breath strong enough to taste.

"At least I'm better than you," Draco snapped back, on a moment of inspiration. "I'll never be worse than you."

His father released Draco's thin wrists from his grasp out of shock and Malfoy bolted upright. He spun on his heel and smashed the heel of his palm into Macnair's nose, firmly breaking it. Then he ran. He could hear his father screaming for him to come back. The Cruciatus Curse and the Imperious had no hold on him. He was down the stairs and out the door faster than seemed possibly with the pain radiating up his leg and in his chest. 

He burst out of the heavy front doors into the sheeting rain, the cold shock of it reviving him. Draco didn't look back to see his mother staring at him sadly from her room. He didn't see his father curse and threaten him from his own window. He didn't care. 

His feet carried him over the wrought iron gates with the M for the Malfoy family engraved in it and dropped him on the other side, landing heavily on his injured leg. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't go back. His father would kill him.

He felt in his pockets and cursed, kicking at the muddy streets. His wand was in his robe, back at the manor. It would have to stay there. Draco held his wand hand out, checking if the Knight Bus would come if he wasn't bearing a wand. After a minute, he lowered his hand dejectedly. Apparently not. 

Draco started walking up the washed out road. Even though the Malfoys were an important family, they didn't live on a paved road. They never used it anyway. Everyone except Draco knew how to Apparate or went by broom. 

Within minutes, he was soaked to the bone and freezing, though he thought of it as a blessing more than a problem. It made the pain in his back and collarbone ease slightly. Because of his collar, he couldn't turn his head to examine how bad it was, or, for that matter, move his arm. It just hung limply at his side. Draco couldn't even bend his fingers. 

He stared up at the black clouds, rolling with thunder and the occasional bolt of lightning as the chilling rain swept across the fields on either side of him. There was nothing around for miles, just rolling acres of barren moors. 

"I hate this place…" Draco grumbled, trudging along. If he had his cloak instead of this Muggle clothing, he would be happier. Warmer and dryer too. 

His almost white hair was clinging to his scalp, and rivulets of rainwater were dripping into his gray eyes. 

__

I wish I could be in Potter's place right now, Draco thought bitterly, surprising even himself. He never wished to be Potter. Ever. It just proved how bad things were. Draco looked down the road and his heart gave a leap. He could see the town! He'd been walking for three miles and he hadn't even noticed it. He hurried faster. 

Twenty minutes later, he stumbled into a pub, which he knew was filled with wizards and witches. This is where his father and Macnair came, and they never went near Muggles. He ignored the stares he was receiving from the occupants and made his way to the bar. 

"Excuse me, sir. But could you call the Knight Bus for me? I seem to have lost my wand, and I need to get somewhere without walking," Draco asked politely. 

The bartender looked at him carefully, assessing his condition. "What happened to you?" he asked. 

Draco was taken aback by the concern in his voice. He had suspected as much, that he would ask, but had planned on it being more of a command.

"Um…I slipped on the mud outside and landed on a rock wall. Now can you call the bus?" Draco lied smoothly. 

The bartender shrugged and stepped out from behind the counter, leading Draco back through the crowd of people. Draco was careful not to bump his arm against anything. 

They were soon out in the rain again and the barkeep held up his wand hand and stepped back. The Knight Bus screeched to a stop seconds later out of nowhere and opened its doors to them. 

"Thanks," Draco said, and climbed the stairs to the bus. 

"No problem. If your father asks, should I tell him where you are?" the barkeep asked.

"I'd prefer if you wouldn't," Malfoy replied bitterly. 

"Right then. Happy traveling," he said, and disappeared back into the bar. 

"Where to?" the driver asked. 

"Do you know where Harry Potter lives?" he asked. He didn't know why that was the first place out of his mouth. He just had a sudden urge to go there. A gut feeling. 

"Sure, I know where Harry Potter lives! You a friend of his or something?" the driver asked happily, flooring the bus into motion, almost throwing Draco into a seat nearby. 

"Yeah. That's it," Draco replied, watching as the scenery blurred outside the window. 

The driver looked at him in the review mirror. "There's a blanket next to you, if you need it."

Draco picked it up and draped it carefully across his shoulders. The blanket was light enough not to weigh too heavily on his injured one. He leaned back and closed his eyes. 

Next thing he knew, the driver was carefully shaking him awake. "Hey kid, we're here. You want to get off?"

Draco blinked his eyes open and stared out the window at the lamp lit street outside. It looked like a mirror was placed opposite every house, there were so similar. It was almost disgusting. 

"So this is where the Boy Who Lived lives…" he muttered to himself. "Thank you," he said, and left the blanket on the chair as he exited the bus. 

Draco heard it roar away behind him and knew it was gone. Number four, Privet Drive. He knew that much after listening to his father complain about the protection spells on it. 

He carefully approached the door to number four and peered inside. Draco knew he wouldn't be seen because it was so dark outside, and the light from within would reflect enough to block him out. 

There was nothing inside, except a very boring, unexciting living room with an enormous boy the size of a hippogriff was watching the television. 

Harry Potter was no where to be seen. Draco stood there for a minute, and was about to turn away when he heard a muffled cry from an adjoining room. 

Harry suddenly came tearing into the room like Voldemort and the entire Deatheater army were after him, skidding on the wood floor as he tried to stop in his socked feet. 

Draco saw why. Thundering after him was a man about nine times the size of Harry's thin frame, waving what looked like a walking cane with a brass knob at the top at the dark-haired boy.

The sight of Harry was shocking. He was thinner than normal, by almost twenty pounds off what was an already too skinny frame, his face was a mass of bruises and his arm was clutched tightly to his chest as if it was injured. He wasn't even really running. He was hobbling and it looked like he had broken his ribs. Draco recognized the look on Harry's face because it was often on his own. 

Harry couldn't run fast enough to escape the large, fat man chasing him and was caught across the back of his knees with the cane, and fell to the floor. However, he was not immobilized and crawled backwards with his one good hand dragging himself. 

Draco couldn't move. He was paralyzed with shock. 

Harry's uncle (Draco presumed, since that was whom Harry was supposed to be living with) brought the cane down again and again on Harry's legs, and Draco realized what he was doing. He was preventing Harry from being able to run from him. 

After about fifteen whacks with the cane, Harry's uncle grabbed Harry's injured arm and pulled him upwards, Harry screaming in agony and protest. His uncle dragged him down a short hallway and opened the cupboard under the stairs, throwing a broken and bleeding Harry into it and locking it behind him with a dead bolt. 

"That's where freaks like you belong! One sound out of you and you'll get it even worse when you come out!" the uncle shouted, and stormed out of view. 

Draco formed a half-assed plan in his mind, knowing full well he _didn't_ know what he was doing, and opened the door as carefully as he could. He tiptoed to where the cupboard was and unlocked the door, peering inside. 

"No…please…I'll be quiet, Uncle Vernon…just…no more…" a soft voice pleaded, as a shadow cowered in the corner. 

"Come on Potter," Malfoy hissed, and grabbed his uninjured arm and pulled him to his feet. "We're leaving."

As Harry was pulled into the light, he immediately tried to pull back, whimpering in terror. 

"What is wrong with you? I'm trying to help y-" Draco stopped in mid sentence as he felt a huge hand clap down on him with bruising impact.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, breaking and entering my house?" a voice roared in his ear. 

It was Vernon. 

__

Shit. 

Review! REVIEW! Pwease?


	3. Behind Enemy Lines

Disclaimer: Must I repeat myself? No, not mine. If they were, then I'd be rolling in money and working hard on the fifth book. _::hint, hint JKR::_

Author's Note: Just in case any of you wonder about the broken collar bone on this next chapter: Draco's dad snapped the front half of his collar bone so that the broken edge was pressing against his skin. When he gets hit again, it slices through the skin. When you break your collarbone, you essentially can't move that arm, or turn your head cause it moves the broken bone. So, just keep in mind that the bone is aimed forwards, sticking out about an inch…that is the medical update for this chapter. Read and review, as always. (Mitigated = relieved)

Draco froze as he felt the hand clap down on him. _Great plan_, he thought, frantically trying to think of a better plan other than just trying to blindly run away screaming like a banshee. He stood rigid, facing the cupboard where Harry was crouched in. 

"I asked you a question! ANSWER ME!" Dursley roared, and knocked Draco forward into the cupboard. 

Draco wasn't standing directly in front of the cupboard, so when Vernon shoved him, he hit his collar on the frame. His _injured_ collarbone, which he had come to realize, was damaged to the point of pressing against the surface of the skin in a rather disgusting looking bump. 

Draco slammed against the doorframe and screamed automatically as he saw the white bone pop out of his skin, aimed precariously at his own neck. 

He collapsed on the ground, gasping in great heaves to control the pain erupting from his shoulder. In the pain-filled haze, he barely noticed a dark blur lunging out of the cupboard at the monster named Vernon. 

***

Harry hurtled out of the cupboard, a fury welling inside of him making him forget whatever aches and pains he had. 

"Don't touch him!" Harry screamed, clasping a thin but unexpectedly powerful hand around his uncle's fat neck. 

It didn't matter who he was talking about, because the person Vernon just hit had been trying to help him. Like Cedric. His enemy had hurt them because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time…because of _him_. It couldn't and it wouldn't happen again. 

Before he knew what he was saying, the word was out of his mouth. "_Crucio!_" Although he didn't have his wand, he was angry enough to be able to use magic without it. Dark Magic.

Vernon began to convulse, slamming his head against the floor in a fit of pain until blood began to ooze from his skull and his eyes rolled back in his head like he was possessed. A strange sense of giddiness came over him. He was glad to see his tormentor bent to his mercy…and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't so glad. 

What was he doing? This wasn't him…this was someone else…this was the person Voldemort wanted him to be…a heartless murderer. "_Finite Incantatem_," he whispered hoarsely. He'd used an Unforgivable Curse…he was going to be sent to Azkaban like his godfather. 

Vernon had stopped twitching and was lying perfectly still; the only sign of life was the almost undetectable rise and fall of his chest. Then where was the gasping coming from? He jerked in startled realization…it was _him_ that was gasping like that. 

Harry was suddenly aware of a third presence, a hand gently on his arm. 

"Potter…Harry, we've got to get out of here. If he comes round I doubt we'll have another chance," a soft voice said. It wasn't a comforting soft; it was terrified and awed soft. They were terrified of him. 

A scream woke him out of his thoughts. 

"OH MY GOD! VERNON!" It was Aunt Petunia. She had come downstairs to investigate and found her nephew standing over what looked like her dead husband. 

"Get away from him, you freak! I'm calling the police! You're going straight to prison, you miserable little monster!" She aimed a slap at Harry's face but received a nasty shock herself. 

Harry snatched her wrist before she could deliver the blow in midair. "Monster, yes. But I'm not going to prison." He shoved his aunt to the ground, not looking at her like a person. She was like Wormtail. A coward that ran when they were needed. His head was suddenly filled with violent images of his relatives screaming in agony, bleeding away their life and begging him to stop…just like he'd done. 

No…his parents wouldn't want him to become a murderer for these pathetic excuses of human life. Harry dropped his hand; not really aware he had raised it with the thought of the Killing Curse on his tongue. 

He turned and grabbed the friend's hand. Harry didn't care who it was. He grabbed their hand and dragged them with him out the front door and down the steps, past Privet Drive and down the street to Magnolia Crescent. 

The person behind him was begging him to stop. 

Draco finally managed to break through Harry's craze and the smaller boy stopped, looking confused. 

"What?" he said. 

Malfoy slumped to the ground, pressing his palm against the bleeding of his shoulder. Harry had grabbed the wrong arm and the bone had been ripping through his skin with every step. 

"I can't run. Don't make me," Draco gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to focus on something else. 

"What else are we going to do? They're going to call the cops and they'll take us back. And that can't happen. I know I'll kill Vernon next time I see him…" Harry suddenly started laughing. 

"What the hell is so funny? And what are cops?" Draco asked, annoyed that Potter found this so highly amusing. 

Still laughing, he replied, "Vernon, vermin…hehehe…cops are Muggle police."

"What's so funny about Vernon, vermin?" Draco snapped. The blood was beginning to soak down his chest. Draco supposed the joke had something to do with shock. "We need to get somewhere else. Anywhere where there are no Muggles would be fine. Is there any place like that?"

Harry collapsed in another fit of laughter. "Look around you!" he practically screamed, "We're in the middle of Wizarding HELL! Muggles from here to King's Cross! And we have no wands!" He laughed again, then paused. "Do _you_ have your wand?"

"No. I left too quickly to grab it," Draco grumbled, finally standing. "Can't you just use the Summoning Charm?"

"Cause I need my wand to do magic. But…what the hell." Harry raised his hand and half-heartedly commanded _"Accio wand_!" He waited a split second before his wand zoomed into his hand. "I'll be damned," Harry muttered. "Now what do I do with it?"

"Have you gone mad! Call the Knight Bus!" Draco demanded. 

"Oh. Right." Harry raised his wand and the Knight Bus hurtled into view, screeching to a stop in front of the two injured boys. 

"All aboard!" the driver said cheerily. 

As the two climbed on, the driver clucked his tongue. "What happened to you guys?" He floored the bus forwards. 

"We got into a fight, but we're fine," Draco said hurriedly. 

The driver nodded knowingly. "So then…where to?"

Draco blanched. "Um…" he nudged Harry. "Can we go to the Weasleys?"

"I don't see why not…kinda late though, isn't it?" Harry answered, staring straight ahead without blinking. 

Draco had done an effective job at hiding bone protruding from his shoulder by keeping himself turned away from the driver. "To the Weasleys," he said. 

The driver nodded in response and put on an extra spurt of speed. 

After a few minutes, he finally turned to Harry who was still staring blankly out the window. 

"How did you do that?" Draco asked. He was somewhat shocked that a fifteen-year-old could perform the Cruciatus Curse, let alone one without a wand. Even more shocking was the fact it was 'Perfect' Potter who did it; and the look he wore when he watched his uncle in agony on the floor looked so much like Voldemort's, it terrified even him. 

"Do what?" Harry replied mechanically. 

"Do that Dark Magic. Without your wand."

"I can do magic without my wand when I'm really angry. I guess Dark Magic cause I was hell bent on revenge."

The answer would've been funny had Harry not replied so sincerely. 

"You do magic when you're mad?"

"Sometimes. I get in trouble for it though." Harry shuddered. "It's cold."

Draco raised an eyebrow. The summer night must have been at least ninety degrees and Potter was complaining of the _cold_? He knew enough about injuries to know that it was shock, same as when Harry had begun to laugh when he realized how bad the situation was.

"Harry," he said firmly. Potter still didn't look at him. He was beginning to shiver and as Harry tucked his legs up under his chin, Draco could see the wounds inflicted by the cane were still bleeding freely. "Harry," Draco said again, reaching out to grab Potter's chin and forced him to look him in the eye. "Focus. You're going to go into a coma or something, so stop it." _Like he's gonna listen to that_, Draco berated. "Think of something really outstanding in your memory. Something good, Potter. What's you favorite memory?"

"You as the amazing bouncing ferret," Harry replied, smiling serenely. 

Malfoy smiled. "Can't say I agree, but it works. Just think of that for a while."

It wasn't very long before the Knight Bus screeched to a halt, almost throwing Malfoy and Harry onto the floor. 

"The Burrow!" the driver cheerily announced. "You two going to be okay?"

"We'll be fine," Draco said with more conviction than he felt. He steered Potter in front of him and down the steps onto the Weasleys' lawn. With a loud _bang_ the Knight Bus had disappeared again. 

Malfoy suddenly realized how bad this was going to look on his part. Arriving in the middle of the night on the Weasleys' lawn, a family that hated him and his own family, with a wounded Harry Potter on the verge of a mental collapse. 

__

This is going to be splendid… "Come on, Potter. One foot in front of the other…yes, good. You still remember how to walk. Let's see if you remember how to talk so you can talk your way in here, cause if they attack me, I'm telling my father where they can find you…" Draco grumbled insincerely. They had reached the steps of the very tall, very crooked looking house that looked like it was in danger of collapsing on itself. Stray chickens were snoozing in muddled heaps on the lawn, and Draco swore he say a garden gnome watching from beneath the begonia. He swallowed and raised his hand to knock on the door. He got out one soft knock before the door was flung open wide, revealing a short, plump, and extremely haggard looking woman: Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh my…Harry! What happened?" she cried, immediately embracing Potter in what looked to be a suffocating hug. 

Malfoy suddenly felt very much the third wheel and took a step backwards. 

The entire Weasley family was seated in the small kitchen, minus Bill and Charlie (whom Malfoy expected were still at their various jobs) looking extremely relieved at finding Harry on their doorstep, far from being dead. Everyone was so mitigated, that no one even noticed or cared who had brought him to them, and Malfoy felt another pang of jealousy. Potter might not have his own loving family, but he had an adopted one that was better than Malfoy's own. However, his invisibility to the situation was short lived. 

It was one of the Weasley twins who noticed him first. Which one, no one knew. 

"You!" he cried, glaring at Malfoy. "What did you do?"

Malfoy looked over, startled someone actually saw him. "Nothing!"

"I suppose you just happened to find him like this, eh?" the twin shot back. 

"I didn't touch him, all right! I had nothing to do with that," Draco protested, taking another step backwards. 

The twins obviously saw it as a guilt retreat to escape punishment for what he did (or did not do), and advanced on him. One reached out and grabbed Malfoy's shoulder to prevent him from further disappearing into the darkness. It wasn't even a threatening gesture, just a restraint; but the twin had grabbed the wrong shoulder (just like everyone else…) and pressed on the broken bone. Malfoy opened his mouth to scream, but couldn't. Instead, all that escaped was a soft "oh" of surprise, and he collapsed forwards into the Weasley doorway, unconscious. 

You know the drill. Review. Oh, and for those of you who were wondering, no this is not slash. Ice Queen doesn't read it, and has not, is not, and will not write it. 


	4. I Didn't Just Say That

Author's Note: Hmm. Not quite the response I was looking for. In fact, your responses go above and beyond what I expected. Thank you, dearly. And…let's see if we can get past 50 reviews, eh? Oh, and the Weasleys happen to be my favorite characters in the Potter world, so don't think I'm bashing them. I just think that's how they'd respond. And be warned…sappiness soon to follow, but don't think it'll stay that way. I'm not one for huggy feely crap, unless used in negotiating. I'll be back to violence in no time. 

Disclaimer: Get over it. It's ain't mine. 

"Way to go Fred, I think you killed him."

"Did not!"

"He sure as hell looks it!"

"I didn't break him, if that's what you're implying!"

"Both of you, shut up! He's not dead, and he should be fully recovered by the morning. Nasty business it was, repairing the thing, too," a man's voice broke in. 

"So, whoever did that to him was a wizard?"

"It'd have to be. It could be healed with Magic. Muggle inflicted injuries can't."

It was here that Draco opened his eyes and was surprised to find himself on the Weasley family couch, propped up on a remarkably comfy pillow. Beside him, facing the opposite direction with his head at the other end and his feet in Malfoy's face, was Harry. He looked decidedly fragile; his features completely slack and drained of color. His glasses were folded on his chest, which was almost undetectable in its rising and falling. If it was possible, he looked even worse than when Draco had seen him last. 

He tried to sit up without disturbing Potter, and almost succeeded in doing so when the Weasleys took notice of his movement. 

"Going somewhere?" Mr. Weasley said gently. 

Despite the friendly tone, Malfoy froze with one leg off the couch and on the floor. "Umm…"

"If it's more comfortable, you can stand. Your shoulder has been healed, so there should be no further difficulties with that," Mr. Weasley continued. 

"Sorry about that," piped in a twin. "I wasn't trying to hurt to you."

Draco nodded, but still didn't move to stand. 

"I should also add that the gashes on your back have been healed," Mr. Weasley continued. He was beginning to look uncomfortable. "I…I know this must be hard for you to explain, but _who_ did that to you? And who broke your collarbone?" 

Draco scowled. So that's what this was about. It wasn't the first time someone had asked about his father and the scars on his back. There were more on his legs, but those were from when he was young enough to consider running away. "No one," he replied, standing and walking over to the fire in an effort to warm himself. "I fell on my way to Potter's."

"Why were you going there anyway?" Ron asked. Malfoy hadn't even noticed him leaning over the back of the sofa watching his unconscious friend. 

"To be quite honest, I haven't the slightest idea. I got on the Knight Bus and his house was the first one to come to mind. Sorry, Weasley, didn't think I'd get much of a welcoming committee if I came here," he added with a smirk. _I can't believe I just told them the truth_.

"You probably wouldn't. But why on the Knight Bus? Running away from home seems a little bit immature for someone our age. Lucius get nasty?" Ron asked. He wasn't even looking at Draco as he spoke. He was resting his head on his folded arms as he leaned over the back of the couch, waiting for his proverbial twin to wake up. 

"You have no idea…" Draco grumbled, then started at the fact that he had been heard. 

Arthur Weasley was watching him curiously. "Draco, did you run away from your family?"

"No." It wasn't entirely a lie. He ran away from his father, not his family. He didn't have one to run away from. 

"Did your father make those gashes on your back?"

"No," Draco repeated. It wasn't his father, it was Macnair. His father held him and broke his collarbone. 

Arthur seemed to sense that Draco wasn't going to tell him anything about himself, so he redirected the questioning. "What happened to Harry?"

Draco cast a sidelong look at the battered figure that Ron still hadn't turned away from. Potter would either be mad he told the truth, or glad. Hopefully, it would be the latter. Malfoy swallowed. "His uncle. His uncle did that to him."

There was a collective gasp from around the room and Draco noticed that both female Weasleys and the oldest at-home brother Percy were there as well. 

"The _Dursleys_ did that to him? But…he's almost dead!" Mrs. Weasley protested. "He's never had bruises before! Not even a mark! Why would they suddenly…" she stopped, unable to say the words. But Draco could. 

"Why would they beat the living daylights out of him?" he prompted, receiving a murderous glare from Percy, as if he had upset his mother further by completing the sentence. 

"Something to that effect, yes. What did you see when you went there?" Arthur continued as Mrs. Weasley broke into silent tears. 

Malfoy would rather think about anything else at the moment. He'd probably never be able to come to grips with what he had seen if it hadn't been so close to his own memories. "When I got there, I had no idea what I was going to do, so I just peeked in the front window." He paused, not sure if he wanted to continue, but he caught Ron's eye. Ron was staring at him now, urging him on with a look so pleading it was…scary. Ron was terrified for his friend he treated as a family member. Draco had never seen anyone look so concerned over him, not even his own family, much less Crabbe and Goyle. Draco swallowed and continued his story. "Anyway, I didn't see anything at first, just some whale of a kid watching an animated box while stuffing his face. I thought I had the wrong house, and was about to leave when I heard a shout. Potter came tearing out of the kitchen like a bat out of hell and there was this huge man chasing after him with this cane." Draco saw the Weasleys collectively wince as he said this, but he pressed on. "The man, who I assume was his uncle hit him across the back of his legs and Potter fell. I guess his uncle hit him about ten more times across the back of his legs…a couple on his side and shoulder…he wanted to make sure he couldn't get away." Malfoy swallowed again, vividly remembering the horrifying scene. "Then…when he was done…he grabbed him by his arm and threw him into the cupboard underneath the stairs. His uncle left, and I sneaked in and tried to get him out. He caught us and he shoved me into the doorframe…and then Potter came out of nowhere and tried to strangle him before…cursing him. Then we made a getaway. We took the Knight Bus and came here." Draco stopped, finished. He looked around the room expectantly to see if anyone believed him. 

Mrs. Weasley looked like she was going to either break down in tears or strangle someone, Ginny was crying softly while one of the twins hugged her. Percy had an arm resting on the other twin's shoulder, Mr. Weasley looking horrified, but determined, and Ron…Ron was staring at him without blinking, his eyes looking slightly glassy and faraway. 

The entire room was silent except the crackling fire behind Draco.

The stunned silence stretched on, and Draco edged towards the door, hoping no one would notice or care enough to stop him. This whole "caring thing" was kind of scary. "I'll just be going now, you don't need me. Thanks for fixing my shoulder, good-bye!" he said, before darting for the door, but was easily blocked by the twins. 

"Where are you going to go?"

"Back to your father?"

"Wouldn't be smart move."

"Besides…" Arthur Weasley interrupted Fred and George. "You should at least stay around for the night. I doubt you'll want to hitchhike back to your house in the dark. If I'm not mistaken, it's fairly far out in the moors, correct?"

Malfoy nodded, but protested anyway. "What do you care what I do? I'm not a very nice person; you've all met me before! I tried to sabotage Potter and Ron every where I went! What do you care if my father and his Deatheaters kick the crap out of me for fun?" Draco stopped suddenly, clapping a hand to his mouth. "I didn't just say that…"

"Yes you did. Is it true?" Arthur asked gently. 

Draco blanked. "Um…no?" he cursed himself for making it sound like a question. _Damnit_…

"Why would you want to back to that?" Ginny asked. Draco was surprised she spoke at all. 

Malfoy was on the verge of another lie, but thought _Screw it_. "Why? Because I belong there! Not here, where you care just as little about what happens to me. You just feel pity. _Poor Malfoy, his father beats him up. We should feel sorry for him and be nice_," Draco imitated an extremely high pitched version of an authority figure. "Sorry, but I'd rather find some place else to avoid my father and his minions. Besides…I only came to give you Potter, who, to be quite honest, is a lot more deserving of your sympathy than I am."

"Do you have somewhere to go?" Percy asked. 

"What's it to you?" 

"Just curious. Because if you do, you could use Floo powder and our fire to get there," Percy suggested, waving towards the merry blaze. 

Draco stared at Percy, slightly confused. "Why do you care if I have some place to go?" _This didn't fall under pity, did it?_

"Because that's what most people do. They worry about whether you've got someplace to go. They wonder who will take you in. They like to know that their concern is unfounded, though they'll probably do it anyway. That's what friend's do. Even if you don't care about us, we'll probably still care what happens to you," Percy explained. 

"Yeah," said Ron. He was following Draco's movements with his eyes. He didn't seem to have the heart to leave his friend. "We know what you're really like, now. And you can't take it back. I mean, in Hogwarts you always want to make people believe your family spoils you, so you act like a git. But…you can't really be that bad if you actually saved your worst enemy. So stop acting like you are."

Draco sighed, and threw his arms up in resignation. "I can't believe I was just put in a guilt trip by _you_."

"Get used to it. He does it a lot on the summer holidays," a twin said. "By the way, if you're wondering which one I am, it's George."

"Thank you for finally straightening that out. I was about to ask." Draco looked over at the couch where Harry lay stretched out, the only color on his cheeks from the heat of the fire and the dark bruising. "How is he, anyway?"

"Not too bad, all things considered. The injuries are Muggle inflicted, so they can't be healed by magic, like your shoulder. But he's still bad off. I'm considering taking him to Madame Pomfrey if he doesn't wake up by tomorrow afternoon," Arthur replied, turning back to look at Harry. "He's got several broken ribs, cracked cheek bone; I assume he was hit with a cane, no hand could do that easily. Dislocated shoulder, broken wrist…most of the bruising should fade in time, they're nothing serious. What really has me worried is the infection in the lashes on his legs and back. I don't know how long they've been like that, but he's lucky he hasn't gotten blood poisoning though." Arthur paused. "Even if he does wake up tomorrow, we'll have to call Madame Pomfrey. I don't think he can make it to the castle."

"That bad, huh?" Malfoy muttered more to himself than anyone else. "Are you sure it's safe here? I mean, aren't there some sort of charms around his old place to keep You-Know-Who away?"

"They don't realize he's gone yet. In another twenty-four hours, we'll be at Hogwarts, which is twice as safe." Percy answered. 

"You might want to get some sleep, Draco. You've had a long day," Mrs. Weasley bustled, shooing him away from the door. Draco hopped away a few steps, the stopped. 

"I just woke up!" he protested, alarmed that he was sounding like a child. 

"That's a stress nap. When you're body endures its limits of pain and exhaustion for one day, generally you either pass out or have an impromptu nap. So…now is time for some _real _sleep." Mrs. Weasley waved her hand at Draco mock-threateningly as she explained. 

"But...but…"

"No buts! Upstairs!"

"What about the chair? I'll sleep in the chair! I don't want to go upstairs!"

"Why not?"

Draco paused for a moment, before grinning. "Because I like it better down here. I'm not imposing, and I know the bottom floor best. Besides…it looks like the top of the house is going to blow over."

Mrs. Weasley swatted at him, but smiled. "Fine. We'll be upstairs anyway. Arthur and Percy might be taking Floo every once in a while, depending on the severity of the situation. You can keep an eye on Harry along with Ron."

Before he had agreed or even protested, she had conjured a blanket and pillow out of thin air and let the drop onto the armchair in front of the fire. 

"Make yourself comfortable. It's about three in the morning, so no one will disturb you for at least a few hours. Ron," she said, turning on her son. "I want you to get some sleep too. It'll do Harry no good if you wind up sick and exhausted."

Ron nodded. "I'll be up in a bit."

"Good night dear." Mrs. Weasley kissed her son's forehead, then bent and kissed Harry, smoothing his dampened bangs away from his face, then turned to Malfoy. "Good night, Draco. Sleep well." With that, the plump woman chased the remaining Weasleys upstairs, much to their protest. 

Malfoy couldn't help but smile as he heard Arthur's grumbling along with his children's. He settled down comfortably in the chair that Mrs. Weasley had placed the blanket and pillow in, and closed his eyes to sleep. However, he immediately discovered he couldn't. He felt Ron's stare on him. 

"What?"

"I was just wondering why you never told anyone about your dad," Ron replied indifferently, shrugging.

"I suspect for the same reasons Potter never told you about his uncle. One, who would I tell? Why would they bother with me? With Voldemort coming back, I highly doubt the Ministry would bother with a charity case for one of his supporter's son. Two, I thought by staying there, I was sort of helping my mother. If my father had me to beat up on, then he would leave my mother alone. And third, I guess…I had nowhere else to go."

Ron nodded, not sympathetically, but that was to be expected. They had been enemies far longer than mutual acquaintances. "I guess I can understand that."

"You'll be the first who does," Malfoy grumbled, shifting the blankets higher up on his chin. 

*That's where I'm leaving it. Don't worry, it's not done, but I need to end this chapter. Until next time, I bid you all adieu. 


	5. Something Pulls Against the Surface

Author's Notes: DUDE! I didn't expect over ten reviews in four hours! Thanks! (I'm rubbing this in my sister's face as much as possible) J AHAHAHA! Evil, evil me…oh well. I have discovered my true calling! I'm going to be a pirate! Wouldn't you know that runs in my family? Ok…I have been gone for almost three months. Oops…I kind of had a little bit of trouble. _Numero Uno_: I was editing for a couple people and I got side tracked. By the way…if anyone out there needs a beta I would be happy to do it! J

Harry's eyes flew open, the world a blurry mass of shapes and colors. He knew he wasn't at the Dursley's anymore because he wasn't in his cupboard, but he didn't know where he was now. He tried to sit up but felt an immediate pressure on his chest, pressing downwards on his lungs and causing him to instinctively clutch at his chest. Harry's hand hit against his glasses and he shoved them on his face, forcing the world into focus. He screamed when he saw what was looking down at him.

It was Ron, yet a horribly mutated and obscene version of him. He still had red hair, but his face looked like a mountain troll had bludgeoned it. Bones jutted out at odd angles and one eye looked as if it had exploded, blood dribbled down his face. With a horrible jolt Harry realized that the monster was holding him down, and a second was coming to join the first. They were going to kill him.

Harry screamed, louder than he ever had under the Cruciatus Curse, and began to thrash wildly on whatever surface he was lying on. The second creature that had Malfoy's blonde hair was grabbing at his hands as Harry tried to use them to shove the monsters off. 

"NO! Let go!" he screamed, and swung with his right hand, which connected to the Malfoy Monster's chin. The creature reeled backwards, releasing Harry's wrist and allowing him to roll off the surface he was lying on. Harry struggled to his feet, whirling around to find a door…a window…any means of escape at all. He was panting as if he had run a marathon, his legs burned with pain and his wrist was beginning to give off a dull ache as he clutched it to his chest. Dimly, he was aware that the thunder he was hearing was coming nearer now, and that it wasn't really thunder at all, but footsteps coming down the stairs. 

Harry panicked even more, if that was at all possible. The new monsters were worse. They had pale, skeleton white faces that looked like snakes…all with leering, blood red eyes…the blood red that was now trickling down his back and calves, though he was all but oblivious to it.

One creature tried to grab his arm, but Harry used his elbow to slam against their cheek, knocking them back a step. 

"Keep away from me!" he shouted hoarsely. He grabbed a chair in front of him and swung it in front of him to block further attacks from that direction. "Don't touch me!"

&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*

Ron watched numbly as his best friend slugged his older brother in the jaw, screaming to keep away from him. Harry looked like he was mad, his green eyes unfocused and glazed over. The wounds that had begun to heal during his short rest were beginning to open again, and a scarlet pool was beginning to form underneath him. It looked as though his legs were about to give out, and Harry reached out to brace himself on the table beside him. Harry didn't quite manage to keep himself upright, but kept him from collapsing onto the floor. 

"Please…just keep away from me…no more…" Harry pleaded, mostly to himself. He wasn't looking at anyone in particular, instead staring at some person that only he could see.

"Harry! Please, listen to me! It's just us! The Weasleys! Friends! We're not going to hurt you!" Fred tried to calm the terrified young wizard. 

Harry sank to his knees, rocking back and forth as he hugged his arms around himself. "No…no…no…" he repeated to himself. 

"Dad, what's wrong with him?" Ron asked shakily. 

"Shock. Probably a high fever to boot," Mr. Weasley replied, worry creasing his brow. "If he doesn't calm down, he's going to hyperventilate and pass out."

"NO!" Harry suddenly shouted, leaping up from his crouched position, waving his hand out from his body, sending a rippling force towards an unseen attacker. The wavering force upended the kitchen table, sending it flying into the opposite wall and shattering into splinters. 

The entire house was silent, including Harry, except for his ragged breathing. 

Draco was the first to break the silence. "Wow, Potter…"

Harry turned towards the sound of his voice, seemingly unable to actually see and instead relying on the sense of sound to find his way around. "Malfoy?" he whispered, the puzzlement evident in the scratchy voice. 

"Stupefy!" Mr. Weasley commanded, raising his wand and aiming at Harry. The spell hit him in the chest, immediately knocking Harry unconscious. As he fell forwards, Fred, the nearest to him, rushed forwards and grabbed him before he fell to the ground. Easily lifting the thin frame, he picked Harry up and placed him back on the couch. 

"I had to do it…" Mr. Weasley was muttering sadly under his breath as he checked Harry over. "This settles it. He'll have to go to Mungo's in the morning."

"Dad! That's _a mental hospital_! Harry's not crazy, just sick!" Ron protested vehemently at the statement. 

"I know that, son. But Mungo's is also a medical facility. No one mentions it nearly as often as the psychiatric ward. We can't take Harry anywhere else."

"What about Madame Pomfrey from Hogwarts?" Ron argued.  

"Ron, she doesn't _live_ at the school. I don't even know how to contact her! Besides, now is not the time to be calling attention to ourselves. Hogwarts would be the first place You-Know-Who would look for him," Mr. Weasley explained. "I'm sorry, but he must go to Mungo's."

Ron looked down at his friend. He had never seen Harry look so frail and sick before. Ron slowly nodded. "All right."

"That's a good boy…" Mr. Weasley said, patting his son's shoulder comfortingly. 

&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*

Voldemort laughed coldly at the scene before him. "So, you're taking the boy to Mungo' s now, eh Weasley? This will be easier than originally foreseen."  The snake-like man shouted for his servant. "Pettigrew!"

The mousy looking man scuttled up next to the Dark Lord. "Y-yes, M-master?" he stuttered, wringing is one good and one phantasmal hand together nervously. 

"Remove the spell from the Muggle man, Dursley. He's served his purpose. Potter will soon be vulnerable enough for even you to get him while he's in the hospital. Make sure you don't screw up…and Pettigrew?" Voldemort said silkily. 

"Yes, M-master?"

"This is your _last_ chance. Fail me again and you and Nagini will become a lot closer. Now be gone," Voldemort hissed, and waved his hand absently in the direction of Peter Pettigrew, sending the small, pale man soaring out the door. The door slammed shut with a bang and Lord Voldemort was left alone again. He leaned forwards, watching from his throne the comings and goings of the Weasley household through his crystal ball. 

"Good-bye, boy."

Yeah, it's short, but I have three tests to study for. The reason for the long gap in between updates (I'm sorry!) is because I lost the disc I had this stored on and only recently recovered it. Apparently, the reason for its absence was because I left it in another _state_. Sooo…now that it's back, expect some quicker updates. As always, review! Oh, and special thanks to Foxee for finally getting on my tail to write some more. J


	6. Heroes and Friends

Author's Note: All right, it's been about nine months since I last updated, but I really wrote myself into a corner with this, and I was working on something that I might actually get published some day. Sorry! But please review this one again! In the last chapter where I said Voldemort was using a crystal ball, the last thing on my mind was the one Trelawney uses, actually. I was thinking of the one in _Lord of the Rings_ that Saruman used to talk to Sauron. I know, traitor me for reading Harry Potter's arch rival, but bite me. Harry is still my fave, but LotR is a close runner up. Anyway, on for the next chapter.

  Harry blearily opened one eye, wondering why the world was so out of focus. He suddenly realized he didn't have his glasses on and fumbled around for them, managing to knock them onto the floor. "For the love of…" Harry grumbled, and drawing every ounce of strength he had, reached down to feel for them on the floor. Strange. The bed seemed to have grown in the night and he leaned further over the edge. His fingertips barely brushed the floor and he gave up trying to remain in bed. He wanted his glasses so he could see; he threw himself half off the couch so he reach his cursed glasses and slid them on his nose. 

The world suddenly sharpened and regained its normal contrast; and was upside down. Harry shook his head. No, _he_ was upside down…on his head, half in, half out of the couch in the Weasley's living room. _Ok_, he thought to himself. _Which of those statements just doesn't belong_? _All of them…no, wait, just the Weasley bit. And Malfoy sleeping in the chair. Malfoy? Weasleys? What the…?_ Harry pulled himself back up onto the couch and glanced around. He was in the Weasley's living room, on their couch, and Draco Malfoy was sleeping in what looked like a really uncomfortable position in the chair next to the fire. 

Harry stopped for a moment, trying to remember what happened, and drew a blank. He couldn't have slept over at Ron's because he'd be in his tower room, not the couch. So how did he get here? And what the bloody hell was Malfoy doing here? _To hell with this…_ he thought and swung his legs over the side of the couch and stretched his arms, noticing they were stiffer than was expected, as if he'd been in one of Wood's practice sessions. A couple bones in his back cracked and popped as he twisted, trying to get the kinks out. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy beginning to stir and watched as the pale gray eyes blinked open…and he screamed. Well, maybe scream wasn't right word; yelped in surprise fitted better. 

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling much more tired than he though possible. Just getting himself back onto the couch seemed more difficult than usual. He yawned before falling back against the couch back. "And what time is it?"

Draco tried to work his tongue around his mouth but only managed a garbled mutter that could have been a different language all together. "Umm…" he trailed off. 

Harry sat before him with a serious case of bed hair, but other than that, perfectly fine. Not the slightest mark on him…and apparently a very poor memory. "You don't remember?" Malfoy finally asked. 

"Remember what?" Harry replied. He yawned again. "I'm too tired to remember…remind me." 

"You don't remember your Uncle? The cane, the cupboard, the Knight bus?" Draco tried again.  

Harry's face screwed up in concentration. "Vaguely…" he trailed off, as if searching for the exact memory. _Ok_, he thought to himself. _Cane. Vernon. Knight Bus. I took the Knight Bus after blowing up Marge…but why would Malfoy care of even know about that? Vernon…well, duh, evil uncle who kept me under a cupboard. Malfoy shouldn't know or care about either of those things either. Cane…cane…_Harry drew a blank. _Vernon had a walking stick that he never used, but kept in the cupboard. Dudley whacked me upside the head with it once…_Harry froze. Every memory came crashing down on him: the heat stroke, the resulting beatings that became like clockwork in the Dursleys' household, Draco coming in the middle of the night, the trip to the Weasleys'…and another blank. Harry assumed he'd been unconscious since then. 

Malfoy watched the emotions flit across Potter's face from confusion, to thoughtful, to horrible understanding. 

"Oh…" Potter whispered. 

_Oh no, _Draco thought. _If he has an emotional breakdown, I'm calling a Weasley_.

Harry shook his head, as if clearing away the thoughts. "But then why are you here?"

"Excuse me?" Draco asked, caught off guard by the question. Potter just brushed off a beating like that as if it were nothing more than a spring shower he'd had the misfortune of getting caught in. 

"Why are you here? Or at the Dursleys'?" Harry repeated the question slowly. 

"I didn't have anywhere else to go." Draco shrugged.

"Why couldn't you go home?" Harry asked, unable to dredge up a memory to explain Malfoy's presence, or why he was talking to him civilly. 

Malfoy seemed to momentarily panic, but quickly regained his composure. "Family problems," he replied cryptically. "But…" he cleared his throat. "Um…how did you…you know…" he gestured at Harry, who quirked an eyebrow.

"How did I what?" he asked, rubbing his eye sleepily. "Heal?"

"Yeah! You looked like Death warmed over last night and now you're fine!" Draco protested. 

"No idea," Harry answered. He allowed himself to slide to his left into the soft down pillow. He'd never been so tired in his life. It was all he could do to stay awake. 

"What do you mean you don't know? Potter, wake up! You've been asleep all night!" Draco demanded angrily, swinging his feet to the floor.  

"Don't know: the answer given when someone doesn't know the answer to the question they've been asked. I don't know, I'm too tired to think." As if to emphasize his point he yawned again and buried himself deeper in the pillow. 

"Wake up!" Draco repeated, shaking Harry's shoulder forcefully enough to knock his glasses askew. 

"Go 'way…" Harry mumbled. 

Draco threw up his hands in exasperation. "Oh forget it!" Harry was already fast asleep. Stupid git. Couldn't stay awake long enough to explain how he managed to heal himself better than Madam Pomfrey could ever hope to do. Draco sat back on his heels, studying the side of Potter's face that he could see. Last night he'd had a pretty healthy looking black eye and bruises across his jawbone, but now there was no trace of them; just slightly pink patches where the bruises were. A thought suddenly occurred to him and Malfoy leaned forwards for a better look at the pink splotches. 

Now that he was about a nose away from Potter's face, he could see the pink edges slowly fading before his eyes. "Accelerated self-healing," he whispered to himself, smiling at the thought as he rocked backwards again. He remembered a book he'd read when he was younger, a book about healing herbs and such. The only reason it stood out against his memories was that was the first night his father had ever struck him. Draco rubbed absently at his cheek where his father's hand had connected. The book had contained a chapter that spoke specifically about wizards and witches with the power to heal themselves after receiving particularly vicious injuries. It was sort of a form of shock, if he remembered correctly, and the people were always tired after doing it. The practice was also fairly common, but mostly just in adults. Children usually didn't endure the circumstances to trigger the healing power within, but in Potter's case, Malfoy was slightly surprised it took as long as this to appear. At least he had his answer now. 

Draco climbed to his feet and looked over his shoulder at the clock atop the mantle, noting it was only six in the morning. He hated mornings. On the other hand…he cracked the bones in his neck…he didn't like sleeping in the chair either. It was better than sleeping on the floor in front of the fireplace, he had to admit, but still, not comfortable. Draco looked around the room again, and decided sleep was a waste of effort and grabbed an interesting looking book from off the shelf and began to read. Ironically enough, it was the same book he'd just been thinking about. 

****

"STUPID BOY!" Voldemort screamed in frustration, hurling the crystal across the room. It shattered into a thousand pieces, falling like shards of light to the floor. His anger not yet quelled, the Dark Lord used his wand to ignite the nearest Death Eater. As the former minion screamed and writhed on the floor dying, Voldemort snatched a cowering Wormtail about the neck. 

"WHAT HAPPENED?" he screamed. "HOW DID HE HEAL?" 

"I-I d-don't know, M-master!" Wormtail whimpered, clutching at the hand around his throat.

Voldemort threw the useless man to the ground and began pacing back and forth. "To hell with foreplay. Send as many as it takes to bring Potter to me! Kill anyone that gets in your way! I don't care who it is, just get rid of them!" Voldemort stopped for a minute before adding, "and tell Lucius I found his son in the company of Muggle-lovers. He needs better discipline."

Wormtail waited for another command. 

"GO BEFORE I KILL YOU AND FIND A MORE COMPETENT HELPER!" Voldemort waved his hand and sent Wormtail flying out of the room. 

His servant's screams died as he flew further from the chamber. Voldemort was alone with his hatred and vengeance. "Soon, Potter, you'll be nothing more than a carbon stain on the flagstones…but not until I have what I want from you." 

Author's Note: All right, this is the second posting of this chapter, and you have to admit, it needed to be replaced. I couldn't write anything from the last way I wrote it, so I had to go back and fix this one. Hopefully, it makes a little more sense this way. Thank you everyone who reviewed last time, I hope you do so again! Please review, criticism though, not flames. Next chapter: Malfoy meets Sirius, and everyone has a healthy dose of violence. Surprise, surprise. J Anyway, read and review! OOO! And I just saw the new movie! Ron is sooo my favorite character! 

Lockhart: "My what a strange place."::turns to Ron:: "Do you live here?"

Ron: ::disgustedly:: NO! ::hits Lockhart with a rock and knocks him unconscious:: 


	7. Constellations Collide

Urg, that last chapter was undoubtedly the _worst_ I have ever written, but then again, it was meant as a filler, to keep Harry out of Mungo's and he and Draco on civil terms. It wasn't meant to be a masterpiece by a long shot. But now, NOW I have something good to work with…oh the joys…J Don't mind me grinning evilly in the corner. I'll be fine…the question is…will Harry?

It was almost nine in the morning when there was a sharp rap on the Weasleys' front door, and Ron made a mad dash for it, trying to beat Fred to it. Ron reached the door well ahead of his brother and flung it open, only to be met by the fierce dark eyes of Sirius Black. 

"Where's Harry?" Sirius immediately asked. 

Ron momentarily panicked, realizing that he and his mother had yet to tell the rest of their family that Sirius Black wasn't guilty of supporting Voldemort. "Um, one second!" he said, and slammed the door shut, whipping around to brace it with his back. "MOM! We have a problem!"

"Well, who is it?" Mrs. Weasley demanded, rising from the couch where she had been knitting a maroon sweater. 

"It's Harry's godfather!" Ron hissed in reply, trying to kick Fred away from the door as the twin tried to shove his brother out of the way. 

"Sirius is here?" Harry immediately perked up at the sound of his beloved godfather's name. "Let him in!" 

"Um, I would, except mum and I…uh…kinda forgot to tell everyone about him," Ron replied nervously. 

"Sirius?" Fred echoed suddenly. "As in Black?"

"Yes, as in Black…Ron, let him in! You know he'll get in either way!" Mrs. Weasley commanded. 

Ron swallowed noticeably and turned the doorknob with his back still towards the door, as if afraid Sirius would obliterate him for slamming the door in his face. He peeked over his shoulder and cringed at the infuriated ex-con, who was just raising his wand to blast the door apart. 

"RON!" Sirius bellowed. "What is the meaning of slamming the door in my face?"

"Sirius Black!" Mrs. Weasley scolded. "Do not raise your voice in this house!" 

"Yeah, that's mum's special privilege," George muttered, though he was staring goggle-eyed at Sirius. 

"Sorry, ma'am, but – " Sirius was cut short when Harry darted between the Weasleys and grabbed him around the middle, hugging him as tight as he could. "I was worried about Harry." He looked down at his godson, puzzled. "Apparently wrongfully so. The owl you sent me said he was lucky to survive the night." Sirius stroked the black hair lovingly. Harry hugged him harder and Sirius coughed. "His grip doesn't seem to affected."

"We don't really know what happened…he was like we said in the letter last night, but when Ron came down this morning, he was fine." Ron scratched his head. "A little more tired than usual, though."

Sirius glanced around the room, noticing all eyes fixed on him, either in bewilderment or accusation. "Um, clarifying: I am not a Deatheater, I did not kill Pettigrew or any of those Muggles, and I was not trying to murder Harry last year."

"Glad we got that out of the way," Ron said, rubbing his hands together. "Do you know everyone?"

"By name and description."

"Good. You're just about even with me," Ron said. 

"Well, come in! Don't stand in the doorway where anyone could see you!" Mrs. Weasley beckoned, shutting the door behind Sirius as he tried to walk with Harry still hugging him. 

"Harry," Sirius started, "you can let go now."

"Right." Harry released his grip around his godfather and stepped back. "Sorry."

Sirius's eyes suddenly narrowed on the pale figure in the back, trying his best to stay out of the reunion. "Draco. What an Earth are _you_ doing here?"

Draco didn't seem at all put off by the fact that Sirius Black referred to him by first name. "Family difficulties."

Sirius nodded. "Lucius know you're here?"

Draco snorted. "Hell no. This was the last place _I_ expected to go, so I doubt he'll even consider it."

"You two know one another?" Harry asked curiously. Malfoys didn't seem the type to associate with a scruffy mass-murderer whom everyone thought was working for Lord Voldemort. 

"Worse," Draco drawled. "We're related."

"His mother is my second cousin or some junk like that," Sirius waved his hand. "Never was big on genealogy."

"Your name _was_ blasted from the rug," Draco reminded, folding his arms and smirking.

"I notice yours wasn't," Sirius snapped back. 

"That's because I was always better at hiding," Draco said.

"Not to interrupt," Ron said, jumping into the argument. "But I assume from your lack of screaming 'Oh my God! Serial murderer Sirius Black! RUN!' you know he's innocent."

Draco nodded. "My father isn't as quiet as he thinks he is. I can hear him talking to Pettigrew and Macnair in the hallways loads of times. I figured if Pettigrew is alive and well, then there must be something wrong with the Ministry's version. Black's name was still erased and no one spoke of him, so I assumed he wasn't guilty of what they accused him of."

"Reasonable deduction, Watson," Harry commended. "Why do you keep playing dumb at school?"

"Because I have to uphold the family name."

"No scholars in your family?"

"Not much of anything."

An awkward silence fell as the conversation came to a dead end.

Sirius cleared his throat then looked down at his godson. "Want to explain what happened to you?"

"When?" Harry asked, not sure if he meant how he came to be here, why he was perfectly fine, or what happened at the Dursley's. 

"Molly's letter said you were pretty much on your deathbed. They were going to take you to St. Mungo's."

"Oh…" Harry said. "Um. I have no idea. I woke up really tired, talked to Malfoy, fell back asleep until about an hour before you arrived."

"You woke up fine?" Sirius asked incredulously. 

This time it was Draco that coughed so that all eyes turned to him. He held up a beaten up old book. "I think this is what happened. I read the chapter awhile ago and Potter's miraculous recovery reminded me of it. Accelerated self-healing, usually found in adults but can happen in pre-teens if the victim suffers from a severe trauma."

Ron blinked. "Your not as dumb as you look."

Malfoy smirked. "Thanks, Weasel."

"Do I still have to go to Hogwarts?" Harry asked. It had suddenly occurred to him just how dangerous this situation could be. Draco _could_ be a spy for his father. Unlikely, but still…Voldemort was known for elaborate rouses. And if he wasn't, he was still in a lot of trouble, and so was everyone near him. Dumbledore had told him about the protection spells around his aunt and uncle's, but there was nothing protecting him here at the Burrow. As long as he was here, everyone was in danger of being found and killed by the Deatheaters. 

"It's the safest place for you," Mr. Weasley answered. "All three of you."

"Three of us?" Draco, Sirius and Harry echoed. 

"Wait, why do I have to go to Hogwarts? Voldemort isn't after _me_! I just have to worry about my father and I can do that well enough on my own!" Draco protested. 

"And why do I have to go? I can keep hiding out as Snuffles in Hogsmeade!" Sirius complained. 

"You _really _want to live in a dank old cave eating rats?" Harry asked pointedly. 

Sirius paused. "Never mind. School food is better. Anyway, I can keep an eye on you."

"And you, Draco," Mr. Weasley pointed at the pale boy. "You might think all you have to worry about is your father, but what do you think he'll do if You-Know-Who finds out that you have been consorting with blood traitors and his worst enemy?"

Draco's face paled a little more, but he remained stubborn. "He won't."

"But what if he does?"

"I'll be _fine!" _Draco protested. "Besides. If my father does find out that I've been hanging around with you, where do you think the first place he's gonna look will be?"

"You'll still be better protected than out on your own," Ron said. 

Draco opened his mouth to protest further but was silenced by Mrs. Weasley. 

"Oh, for goodness sakes! Draco, Harry, Sirius, you're all going to Hogwarts, and that's final! No arguing! If it looks like there's going to be a problem with that arrangement once we arrive, we'll sort it out then. Satisfied?"

Draco scowled. He didn't like taking orders, and he especially didn't like being dependent on others for help. "Fine."

"Good. We'll get ready to go and we'll leave within the hour. Children, go get your things. The Burrow is no longer safe for any of us." Mrs. Weasley waved her children up the stairs. 

After he was sure they were out of earshot, Draco hissed, drawing his lips back like a cat. "How do you stand being coddled like that?"

"When you've been paranoid about being murdered by one of the darkest wizards in all of history since you were eleven, you begin to get used to people looking out for you," Harry replied, smiling slightly. "Though it still gets annoying as hell at times."

"You think you have it bad? I'm thirty and they still treat me like a ten-year-old," grumbled Sirius.

"That's because you act like it," Draco and Harry said simultaneously. 

"That's just plain creepy," Sirius muttered, before moving off into the kitchen to scavenge for a meal. 

"By the way," Harry said, leaning closer to Draco. "If I find out that you're a spy for Voldemort, it won't be your father you have to worry about."

Draco just shook his head. "I don't doubt it."

Ok, not exactly how I planned Draco meeting Sirius, but then in the fifth book when they tell you how the Malfoy's and Sirius are related, I figured the way I had thought it out originally wouldn't work too well. Anyway. I know it's been like a year since I posted something on this, but I'm working on it! I've been caught up in college applications, assignments, mid-terms, work…ick. Busy, busy. Still, let me know what you think and if you're still interested! 

Ice Queen


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